THE AMERICAN
M. Nioche rubbed his forehead slowly and even pushed back his wig a little, looking askance at his empty glass. "Yes—yes. But that's an old story. I've always been unhappy. My daughter does what she will with me. I take what she gives me—I make a face, but I take it. I 've no pluck, and when you've no pluck you must keep quiet: you can't go about telling people. I shan't trouble you any more."
"Well," said Newman, rather disgusted at the smooth operation of the old man's philosophy, "that's as you please."
M. Nioche seemed to have been prepared to be despised, but he nevertheless appealed feebly from his patron's faint praise. "After all she's my daughter and I can still look after her. If she has her bad idea, why she has it and she won't let go of it. And then now," he pointed out—"it's fine talking! But there are many different paths, there are degrees. I can place at her disposal the benefit, the benefit"—and he paused, staring vaguely at his friend, who began to suspect his mind of really giving way—"the benefit of my experience."
"Your experience?" Newman inquired, both amused and amazed.
"My experience of business," said M. Nioche gravely.
"Ah yes," Newman laughed, "that will be a great advantage to her!" And then he said good-bye and offered the poor foolish old man his hand.
M. Nioche took it and leaned back against the wall, holding it a moment and looking up at him. "I suppose you think my wits are going. Very likely; I've
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